


Redheads

by shadowhearted



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Some Plot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhearted/pseuds/shadowhearted
Summary: After detecting her brother in Tokyo, Clary headed to Helter Skelter for his information with ill preparation, which Itori amends to her favour just because of their striking resemblance.





	Redheads

Maybe she shouldn’t have gone there. Maybe Jace was right that she is a stubborn little brat that does whatever she wants, listens to nobody just because she wants to save what is dearest to her, and that includes wandering off into someplace she was told to not go alone.

Jace was right: she never listens.

But his words rang in her ears, again and again.

_Helter Skelter is located in the 14th ward in a relatively isolated region, catering to ghouls — especially the powerful ones — looking for information. That includes the ones that we don’t want to cross. This is not like your average Downworlder scouting. It is dangerous and filled with too much secrets, especially the one running it, of which we have no idea what she is capable. We have to travel in groups and keep our weapons hidden whenever we need information; we can’t do reckless things like we did back in our country, and I hope you, Clary, have heard that._

She wanted to listen, but then they would be in danger. Jonathan must have detected she had escaped out of Paris, because she had seen her brother's shadow advancing to the bar during her last patrol. She had to stop him somehow without hurting her friends. Any information might help her and her friends, and they are only available at a shady place and traced with carefully chosen words.

It had to be done.

She prepared, dressed, runed, glamoured, made sure the fabrics were opaque enough to conceal her weapons. It had to be done, or none of them would be safe.

But since when had she refrained from reckless adventures?

* * *

 

Helter Skelter, thankfully, was still open with well lit lights and vigorous chatter despite the late night. Clary ducked her head low as she pushed open the door. Some ghouls turned and look at her; she was the only human to enter. She ignored them and, after some hesitation, opted a seat near the Anteiku waiter, who was watching Itori, who was with a glass of drink in her hand and conversing with the 4th ward mask shop owner. Everyone was preoccupied in a conversation. She could not wait for long, and was in no mood to drink, so maybe she would end up walking back to the Institute without any fruition.

She wouldn’t worry anything else emergent happening. Cellphone in her pocket, weapons just where she would need them. The only concern was choosing the right words. To dawdle in the bar with other Shadowhunters is one thing, but communicating with a mysterious informant by herself somehow set her nerves on edge in a new way.

_Relax. You have talked to the Inquisitor, you have talked to Valentine, you have talked to the Consul. You can do this._

A figure approached her and a pleasant, familiar voice spoke to her, "Hello, how may I help you?" Itori had approached and edged to her, bringing the drink along.

 _This is it._ "Ah, yes." Clary raised her head and stared decisively into the other woman's crimson eyes. "I would like an information, regarding a blond male in black and looks like in his twenties. Do you know any of his last activities?"

The other took another sip, then smiled politely. A bit too politely, too innocently. "Of course I can get it for you, my dear, but every information comes at a price. Do you have what I need?"

She knew she would face this question. What could suffice? She possessed no jewelries except for the crescent necklace she wears in the waking hours, but it hardly worths any. The true valuables would be her weapons: seraph blades and dual kindjals, but exactly because they are her holy possessions, her instruments against evil, the fire boiling in her veins in battles. Meanwhile, she had some money in the wallet in her pocket — but whose worth was just as spare as the necklace. Therefore, the necklace and allowance may not do, but her weapons would, although that was, as she hated to admit, a cruel and hopefully an unnecessary choice. But what did she expect of their world?

Her hands reached behind her neck and worked on the chains. Unlocking, undoing. Maybe Jace and the others wouldn’t notice. Or she could say she lost it on a demon patrol … Maybe the ghoul couldn’t see how valuable it is and she could fool her way out. “I do.” She extended the necklace in her hand and put it in Itori’s palm.

Itori lifted it by the chain, inspecting. Clary watched her closely, couldn’t perceive anything beyond that composed expression. The red eyes flicked up and down, the lips quirked, but such a minor change she could not guess beyond it accurately. Amusement? Bemusement? Scorn?

She put her hands down and finally faced her, a smile back on her face; but it was the usual polite smile, not approval. “I’m afraid that it was too worthy for your inquiry.”

_Did she … fall for the trap? Or pretend to? Jace said there’s always a “but”; if that goes for the faeries it must be the same for the Clowns —_

She continued, “It looks too good on you. Everytime I see you accompanying other people seeking favours with me, there you are, a nice quiet girl back there, with this jewelry just as nice and minimalistic dangling down your neck.” Glancing at the necklace again, she added, “Just like the stores around here, so simple. Not so luxurious either; you’re a dull conservative, no?” She put the necklace against her chest, trying it on. It glinted against her pale skin, its pearly white nicely contrasted against herself. “You do have a keen eye on things though.” Then she put it back on the desk and pushed it to Clary’s side. As the young girl’s thoughts began to race and plan escape routes, Itori inched up and crossed her fingers under her chin in interest. “But something tells me you are so much more. What I need isn’t this. What I need is you.”

“Is there other equivalent price I can pay?” she asked timidly.

Itori giggled. "Oh, you little sweetheart.” Slipping the necklace in Clary’s jacket pocket, she tapped her nose, her smile growing affectionate, her tone endearing — her eyes calculating. "I could spare all that troubles for you. You may keep your price and accept _mine_ , which is actually even simpler than the worth of what you desire." Raising the glass to herself, examining the liquid her hand then brought it further away from herself and more to Clary's side, as the woman's cryptic stare shifted to the younger’s face despite her carefree and intrigued smile. "It's been a while since I have seen someone looking strikingly like me." The stare darted up and down, at her face, her clothes, her legs. "Of course you think different from me, but how I would love to observe you up close physically. This would satiate my curiosity, and a little taste maybe."

 _You are playing with fire,_ Clary’s rationale warned, too much like Jace.

Should she do it?

It was true that she was desperate. She needed to know where her brother is, and she was questioning a stranger with the same wickedness and trickery as the Fair Folk. The information was within her reach, obscured by a perilous path which twists around lies and sacrifices.

Clary did not notice the other hand Itori had reached out until its fingers — delicate, smooth fingers, clean of human blood — brushed her earlobe in the process of placing a strand of her flyaway hair behind her ear. It also came to her notice that she had been staring into the opposite eyes, though that was an accident as she was deep in thought. Those eyes were red, as does her hair. Though not as red as the bloodshed Jonathan would colour the city should he put his plans into actions.

The finger traced down the edge of her ear, a linear path down her smooth neck, at the uneven lines of her _vision_ rune.

“Oh, do you have any romantic interests? You don’t have to worry about breaking hearts, or loyalty like that.” Itori smirked. “This is all for information delivery, and you will get what you need. I promise.”

Once she finds her brother, it would be over. All of it.

Her emerald eyes fixating on the fiery one, Clary muttered, “Then bring it.”

Then she leaned and sipped the glass of blood wine in front of her, ignoring its metallic taste.

* * *

Itori offered her hand after getting out of the counter, and Clary took it — its grip was soft, warm, and trustworthy. Part of her knew it was fake, and part of her hoped it wasn’t. Regardless, her feet just followed the other like on autopilot, her heels clacking along. The other nodding to the mask maker as they passed, and his demonic eyes rested on her for a few seconds before turning their attention away.

No surprise attacks. No cornering. No running. No hurrying. Itori just walked at a human pace, leading Clary to the back. The seats became larger, more luxurious, ending at an enclosed VIP area in the shape of a circular and a striped tent with a slit in between the curtains, leaking out a red light colour.

The ghoul advanced first, pushing away one side of the curtain and motioned for her. “Come on in.” Her tone was casual, with no trap. The Shadowhunter obligated and yanked away the other side in the process.

It was a striped room illuminated with a cadmium red, from the bright and glaring lights whose wires intertwined the circular frame supporting the tent. A circular seat awaited them, with white soft cushions and couches. A large black round table, fairly large, with ornate edges and swirling-shaped anchors, occupied the center, its radius in fair distance of the couch but far enough to walk around. To have the honour venture to somewhere secluded, Clary wondered whether it was ignorance or deliberation on Itori’s part to give her a glimpse of the bar’s actual not-so-modest aspect.

She was jolted out of her reverie as the woman’s face flashed in front of her eyes and the very next second a pair of hands pushed and cornered her to the wall, slamming on both sides of her. She found herself staring into those widened red eyes and a fox-like but beautiful smirk. “What are you thinking? I wonder what goes on in that little head of yours.” The woman inched closer and Clary had to retreat until her back hit the wall, feeling slight poking from the other’s breasts. “You do smell like the man you were talking about …” Her stare flickered up and down, gazing at her face and then the marks on her skin, before gasping in excitement. “… as if you two are kin to each other! You can opt for a discount, or even for free.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be so generous … ”

“I can. It’s the least of my worries now, especially with someone so beautiful …” Itori removed that piece of stray strand shrouding her neck. “ … and impressively, recklessly brave.” With a sigh, she moved her head to attach her lips to it, traveling her hands down Clary’s hips and beneath her jacket, writhing her fingers and patting up and down. On instinct, Clary’s hips arched from the comfort, reeling in the gratification from the other slim leg trapped between her thighs and a stronger kiss, and immediately regretted so as the fingers slipped into her shirt and traced the hilts of her kindjals in her back pocket, its wrists brushing against her lower back. Her breath jumped, while the other body rolled against hers.

A huff on her neck, bordering on laughter. “A little girl with not so little antics, hm?”

She froze, before realizing that could be the worst thing to do. _Keep moving._ She writhed once, then moved her hips lazily and her hands on the other’s arms — no, kagune may stab her — hips, then a bit down to the curve that began the bum. “People tend to underestimate me.” Her voice was coherent without a pause, but hesitant (insignificantly, but there).

The fingers straightened and pressed flat against her asses with a light slap, pressing the two bodies together, and _kneaded_ , drawing an inadvertent exhale and a tremble from her; she couldn’t believe she was this desperate. “Of course, how could they not? What a tender girl beneath me, with cute little knives behind her back. Who has any idea how lethal she could be?” The knives were drawn out — the retreated contact left her butt slightly sweaty from the arousal — and pricked their sharp tips against her lower back, their coldness stinging her skin. Clary raised her head, her solemn frown meeting Itori’s knowing smirk, her alert eyes facing the cunning gaze. “How deep can she cut? How fierce can she fight? How much would she give? To give it all, or none?” Her smile widening, the knife she claimed being lifted up, up, its blade teasing on Clary’s backbone, ripping through her fabric. “Are you a viper, or a tigress?” Itori pulled back, as did Clary’s hands, took the other kindjal and cut a straight and decisive line up the front. With each decimeters, Clary felt more chilling air sweeping across her skin, even more so due to her sweat. _What would Jace say?! How are you going to explain yourself?!_ and more ominous warnings raced in her head, but she could hardly mind them, under the woman’s penetrating and hungry gaze on her half bare form only obscured by her ripped clothing and lacey black bra. “Look at you, so vulnerable … So …” A dismissive and pitying sigh. “ … human.”

The kindjal pointed to her lower stomach as her hands reached in her pocket, gripped the two other undiscovered weapons and, with a twirl, the seraph blades unfurled themselves, one pointed at Itori’s bare back, the other threatening near her neck. Adrenaline pumped in Clary’s veins again as her weapons pulsed blue, fire quaking in her bones. She couldn’t help but grin, baring her teeth. “You wanted fire? You got it. I can cut deep, I can fight even though I may be small and scrawny. I am a tigress, but I can strike like a viper. I am not what I seem.”

Itori tilted her head — jugular vein protruding underneath her skin — with that smile still plastered on her face, except shifted to the earlier one while considering her price: cryptic, observational, and something new: fascination. “Yes, you’re not what you seem.” Her knife traveled up to and aimed at Clary’s neck, so the two women mirrored each other. The tip inched closer, closer, pressed into the spot marked with _iratze_ and still pressed, and the skin warped in under the pressure; while the other one at the back moved and, a second later, Clary heard its _clink_ against the floor from its drop.

And a hand against her exposed skin. “As goes for anything else.”

The knife slashed and drew blood before another _clink_ signaled its discard, and the next moment Clary found herself pinned down on the couch, the woman’s hands grappling her hips and ripping apart her shirt and tearing down her jacket. Heat pulsed in her neck as the pair of lips sucked away the blood with hot puffs of breath, tracing back and forth between her jaw and the injured spot. Being grinded on the hips which rolled so vigorously down her crotch, and groped on her hips and waist below, she arched and writhed and raised her head to extend her neck to welcome as much as possible of that delightful and sensual heat inside her. The lips licked so smoothly, the hips so in sync, she wanted more of it, to feel it —

But her grip was occupied by the seraph blades, and she was once again reminded of their reason. She was hesitant until one of Itori’s hands took hold of her wrist and pressed down her knuckles, dropping one of them on the ground. Another pounced the same attack on her other hand, but something ignited in her and threw it away out of the couch, almost before Itori pinned it down. Soon she was locked in a deadly grip with no chance to flee.

The other pinned her hands above her head, inching close to her face. Here she was, submissively and helplessly trapped beneath a ghoul. But the horror and warnings felt so far away now, so bland and buried in the depths. Maybe she was glad, even, as if a fantasy had been realized or a wish become true, though cornered by an alluring and deceitful creature with beautiful eyes and delicate mouth and toyed by its touch.

“Are you … afraid?” spoke Itori airily, her rosy lips moving smoothly.

“ … No,” replied Clary, faintly only to human ears, unable to take her eyes away. _Red, the colour of lust, which burns just as fiercely as flames._

“Then …” Itori whispered into her ear, her breath huffing oh so softly, anchoring her arms by the wrists. Her free hand loosened its own strap, and more of its full breast tumbled out making a dent on her skin, before tracing a line down Clary’s stomach and the smooth rim of her belt,

“be …

very …

 _afraid_.”

The only other cautionary omen was her bare shoulder in Clary’s view, its normally smooth and pale complexion rendered a devilish red from the lights. As her belt unbuckled, a tinge of regret sank in her stomach as the fingers entered, as if to rip her wings to banish her from the Heavens, and bask her in the sinful contentment in which they indulge — But she then realized how it was so enjoyable, as her pleasured part tasted its wicked flavour served by the brisk digits caressing her rims and the lascivious mouth licking away and moistening her throat, from which a sighing exhale stuttered and escaped.

Circled and tempted by more fingers, she could not stop her body from bucking down, could not stop begging for and welcoming more of this lovely warmth as it strengthened and strengthened. More and more of her insides warmed up, more pleasured, and then, feeling a spot brushed, the best feeling in the world flashed and went. Fingers returning and poking there, a fresh new wave of pleasure washed over her as they slid down with more and more force, sending a deeper, darker addiction thundering in her nerves. Bucking her hips more, she felt the same but stronger satisfaction as something smooth and liquid slid out; her body accordingly contracted, making her breath catch in delight. The other body arched and perfectly aligned against hers like a corresponding puzzle, pressing its breasts against hers and spreading a delicious sensation down her stomach. She arched back then rocked, the satisfaction penting up inside her. Kisses wandered to the middle of her throat, flushing it and everything below an intoxicated shade of pink.

She caught a part of the other red hair shining white under the lights’ glare with the remaining fiery red before arching once more, tossing back her head as the fingers stroked and kisses pecked at her jaw; running her hands in it, she found the texture heavenly smooth, wonderfully straight without flyaway bits, and, wading her hand and cascading like silk once she let go. Next came the jagged edges of shoulder blades, then the slender arms, then the smooth back (as Itori grinded against the touch, sending a new wave of warmth throughout her being) that had the most beautiful valley (she gasped again in wonder, fingers running over and savouring the protruded backbone) ending gracefully at a delightful pair of hills; which Itori lifted and wiggled higher in the air to flaunt, and she accordingly squeezed them. They were so soft and flexible —

Another shot of jarring pleasure made her reflexes jolt, made her thrust harder against the other woman’s fingers. Now they were pumping and attacking her spot with a new frenzy supply of fervour, drawing more fluid from her, and she took them gladly, brushing and brushing against them to receive more of its gifts. Soon a new spark danced inside her, igniting again and again as she hit the curling knuckles, holding her breath —

The hand slid out, leaving her stretched and empty. She whined.

“Don’t worry,” a voice purred into her ear, “this is just the beginning.”

Then, the kisses and licks wandered until the lips, descending down her flushed breasts, sealed around her nipples.

The tongue flicked; oh, the tongue! Fire coarsed in her veins in such a way that words couldn’t summon. Her body curled and the other gladly reciprocated. Meanwhile, a pair of hands stretched apart her thighs. She felt so gratified out in the open.

The mouth sloppily descended, kissing her stomach with motherly care, before arriving below her navel and her crotch — They were there, they were almost there … She could tell the fire brimming to the edge, threatening to rain over her … Kisses down her part, down to the utmost intimacy; a tongue on her clit, and she tensed and her ass squeezed briefly. Now all there was just waiting, she would be there soon — Now it penetrated her hole, giving the most beautiful salvation ever —

There, almost there — brushing in the rightest way at the rightest place, sparks rising —

The figure raised, and Clary exhaled in surprise at the abrupt emptiness. But the heat was still there, and she was dying to get it. “Please, please, Itori —” she looked at her in the eye; the other was watching her amusedly, beginning her way back on her. “I _want_ it. _Please._ ” She was trembling and squeezing, the desire beginning to drive her to delirium.

The other smiled, raising a finger to her mouth, and she dared to speak no more. “Like I said …” Her voice was as tranquil as her smile. “ … This is just the beginning. Be patient, little doll, or you won’t get what you need.”

Desperately, she nodded.

Itori rose, adjusting her strap, before picking up Clary’s clothes she had ripped down and putting them back on her: lifting her legs, snapping her belt back in place, tucking her arms in and zipping close her leather jacket. As she put her legs into her boots, Clary felt the brief stab of her hidden knives before the other chuckled, “Oops, forgot about that,” and drew them out and righted them before putting in her feet. She retrieved the discarded weapons and tucked them back into her belt, ignoring Clary’s puzzled stare. _Is it over? Why haven’t she given me the information?_ Picking up her tattered tank top, Itori chuckled ruefully, “This … I’m sorry you can’t use it anymore. Just tell your friends you suffered a vicious attack.”

“It’s all right,” she muttered. All she wanted was to satiate her heat, which was subsiding.

Looping it around her arm, she helped Clary up and put an arm around her; Clary was grateful of that, for her feet was trembling and her hands feeling a strong urge to rub where she wanted the most. Itori escorted her out of the door, past the VIP area, past the long counter and where the mask maker and the waiter were still seated and conversing; the former turned to them, inspecting especially her.

_Where is she taking me?_

“Drank too much wine,” Itori explained with a laugh.

“You don’t have wine back there,” he replied when they got close.

She snarked back or did not answer — Clary couldn’t hear from the roaring from the people around her and her own desires — and carried on, to the other end of the bar and one of the doors concealing the unknown, all of them bearing the same sign with red octagon with a hand: No employees are to enter there.

This was it, she thought, as Itori opened the door and began the long upward steps. She was just a lamb awaiting slaughter. The ghoul never had any information, just looking for a food on her plate. After all, she was half angel, so her blood smelled too humanly and appetizing, a perfect target. She wanted all of her to herself. How could she be so stupid, not listening to Jace and Alec and anyone, just to die a stupid death and make them worry so much?

But ultimately she was excited. Finally they could exchange intimacy personally with no other person in sight, away from the clamour and chatter. Itori’s arm around her was so warm, her curves bumping into her every now and then. If having the opportunity she would feel them and hold her close.

The residence was simple and cheap: a living room separated from the kitchen; a table placed with a chair to denote the area for dining; objects scattered around, mostly wine bottles and other things. A walk into a small area of hallway and there it was: the bedroom, a room mostly occupied by a bed with a messily tossed blanket, small cabinets and two closets. Perhaps this was the last thing she would see.

Gripping her hips, Itori pinned her to the bed, untangled her tank top from her arm and tossed it elsewhere. There was no chance to escape, but Clary was not sure she want to.

Itori looked at her close in the face. Her eyes were delicate and its lashes so soft, but their stare was sadistic and anticipating. “Scared?” Her voice was a sheet of honey and poison.

Clary puckered her lips, lost in the crimson orbs. Was she? Under a ghoul which she never met and familiarized until now, who knew what she was prepared for: death or at worst torture? Away from the safety of Institute and everyone unaware of her venture, she was a mere plaything, ready to be killed should Itori be done with her. But she was not afraid; many people regretted their mistakes of underestimating her. And the woman in front of her was so alluring, the dress hugging round her glorious stature and smooth curves. Would it be worth it to meet her demise with her hands on her hips, which would keep thrusting and thrusting against her, the breasts rubbing against her sensitive chest —

The other, furrowing her brows in a sort of melancholy, inched so close their lips almost met. “I can see you are, poor little thing. What happened to the stubborn brave girl a minute ago? Is she gone? Because I really miss her. Because if she doesn’t come back —” She worked at and tossed the belt away; it harshly cluttered. “— I’ll eat up whoever took her.”

Then, fixating a stare with such lethal and determined fury at Clary that she dared not to look away, Itori stripped her down not too gently, stood up and put her own hands to the strap’s knot holding the dress in place, the slender fingers brandishing in such a way the younger redhead followed their movement from hips to shoulders. The knot untangled, the black dress fell apart and slid off so smoothly.

Blood now rushed to her ears and she was pretty sure her heartbeat must be thundering. She felt an instinct to cover her face as much as she could, but also to lounge and savagely feel every single corner and perks this body had. As a first timer, it was a jarring sight. The overwhelming beauty … By mouth she had heard of that countless times, of how she was so irresistible. But up close and personal, the soft-looking skin, the full breasts, the smooth curves and jagged bones carving the skin were indeed why. Her spot pulsed and leaked with need, her thighs were wet. Smiling — and Clary felt weak — Itori leaned over her again and pinned her down with her whole body, and Clary’s chest warmed and flushed in pink. “Silly little human.” The husky voice. The lick on her ear. Clary felt hotter and loved the pulse gaining its vigor inside her.

She went still as the kisses transformed to soft bites, and waited for the sudden searing pain from a chunk of her skin tearing away with blood reeking the air and disconnecting away from her life. But it did not come. It did not come.

Then the teeth dragged.

Its scratch left a pink trail in its wake, moistening her skin.

 _Ah, f —_ Next came a slender hand placed on her thigh, and she tensed, and that primal desire returned. _Oh, please …_ F — She felt hot —

A finger ran over her jaw as a voice asked demurely and sweetly, “Where is that girl, little flame? Where did you keep her?” The finger trailed down the middle of her throat, and its pressure on her skin made her lurch, feeling the other’s warmth. “Last time I lured her out with her precious knives and she put me in my place real fast~” It switched to a thumb that pressed down on her nipple, with others squeezing her breast, pulling a whine out of her. “How sweet little sounds she has~ What does it take to lure her out?” Moving, slithering across her body, Itori’s breasts now somewhat on her stomach as she looked up, her wide eyes feigning innocence — “Like this?” — before taking her nipple into her mouth and flicking her tongue. Clary’s hips arched and her head threw back with a small cry from her lips.

But then came another lick, and another. Before Clary could adjust, a pair of fingers snaked in and fingered the edge of her clit. She mewled and rocked against the other body as hard as she could, which reciprocated, especially those breasts pressing into her stomach and making her feel how squishy they were. The hand pressed and moved faster, eventually slipping in and out of her hole rhythmically and flexibly. She swore she would sooner lose herself in this heat so she gripped the woman’s hair; the strands felt so soft. And then teeth settled on her nip, the tongue swirled and the lips worked so cleverly and sensually, drawing a high-pitched whine and a deep breath from her, tightening her grip.

The hum. Oh, the hum that vibrated against her breast, and the fingers fucked faster — Clary actively bucked into her, forgetting her dignity and duties, locking her legs around the other’s hip, begging through wines to take her hard, take her fast, and at some point the tongue left her breast and licked on her ear, flushing the area below it, puffing hot breaths into it and an alluring voice that made her so glad for coming here.

“Does my little girl like it?” The fingers jerked and pumped. “It feels good, isn’t it? Getting fingerfucked in the pussy and having your sweet release from that, with a mouth around your breast sucking away your nipples so you can cum faster? Does that feel good? Being groped on your hips, your boobs, bitten in the neck and sucking away your sweet blood, and may I mention how much of a tasty snack you are? I could have eaten you up, your blood would sell a fortune, but I can’t let my customers take you away~ It’s so much better draining your blood from your neck, from your body, because you are even more juicy with your face flushed and your body spread nicely with all the c —”

Such filthy words and she was sure she was going to combust. The fingers continued to jerk and she bucked furiously against them, but then they were still, forcing her to fulfill herself — Suddenly Itori grabbed her pussy, pushed her back, seating on her crotch firmly to station her hips.

Clary began to realize how her mouth was drooping open and desperate while the other looked wickedly perfect, until Itori’s deliciously crude words took her breath away. “Look at you little slut, excited for anything, hm? Pity, pity.” She positioned herself to leaned back over her, her mouth to her ear, her back again flaunting the mouthwatering arc. “Is this all the pleasure you know? Are you surrounded by so much boredom that you really, really do not know how to stimulate yourself?” Then she crawled down, licking over the breast she had latched on earlier, her fixated look devilish and hungry. “I have shown you the most pleasant delights.” Then a lick on her stomach as Clary stared in wonder. “Is this all you know? Missionary? Boredom?” Venturing lower, snuggling between her legs. “Order? You can think of better than that.” That was false in a lot of ways; she had done many unconventional things. But this. “Are you the opposite of me? A mirror? Maybe not anymore.”

Then a lick all the way from her rim to her clit.

It was paralyzing. Paralyzing pleasure. Clary arched a little and brought herself closer, wanting to try more. As she wanted, the lips sealed around her sensitive little nerves —

— and sucked.

And of course she lurched and pushed closer to the lips, closer to the bliss she demanded through a combination of needy moans and calling the other woman’s name. The woman was so beautiful, alluring, and (she admitted) successfully trapped her into her own game, playing to her bidding, but there was nothing regrettable about being grinded by a pair of enticing hips and electrified by talented lips.

Ah, she was closer and more desperate now; she bucked her hips harder now. And soon enough, with a flick of her tongue, her body as if switched on autopilot rocked harder than before. Her senses driven to delirium, the fluids releasing in sweet bliss, her eyes rolled back, sensing sparks and a brief blissful void in her sight.

It was not long before Clary felt her fire exhausted.

Everything inside her ground to a halt: her bent knees slumped, her fistful grip on the sheets uncurled, her body sank to the soft cushion offering a comforting rest. The only restless and functioning organ was her lungs, expelling the air she had long repressed during the memorable moment  in the form of rapid huffs and subsequently heaving her chest. Her eyes, glazing with leftover fiery lust, returned Itori’s stare as Itori lifted her head away from her womanhood. It was a stare of the most demonic and knowing glee, with fiery red irises and hellish sclera, a reminder that she played with a monster; but also a beauty that blesses the eyes despite its venom.

 _And that is why so many can fall for it,_ Clary thought feverishly as Itori wiped away the fluid around and under her lips by her tongue with a hynoptic smile. She approached — the odour emitted in faint huffs — and wiped her own chin with a lithe finger and gave it a lick. Clary, getting up on her elbows, smiled and lowered her eyes in awe, inadvertently looking at the other’s neck, collarbones, prominent breasts and overall a beautiful body, and her erotic senses reawakened once more —

Two fingers without a warning shoved into her mouth, and the sultry taste of herself spread within, the fluid sticky on her tongue and soon liquidized with saliva. Without stopping the fingers advanced until near the knuckles, Clary moaning from the movement and reflexively screwed her eyes shut before opening them again to see Itori observing her and smirking with her eyes back to normal. She stared back until the jab of anger grew into irritation, raised one of her hands preparing a vicious punch.

Suddenly her head swam with leftover high and her motion slowed; the ghoul stopped it midblow with a firm push, grinning and utterly unaffected. “Now, now, don’t waste your energy~” She inched up and kissed Clary on the cheek — her lips thoroughly dry and clean from the lick — with a hug so close the two’s breasts pressed to one another. “You have been through a long day. Let’s relax,” she said into Clary’s ear, pecking a trial of kisses down her neck, eliciting not much arousal as before. “I’ll start the bath for you, dear. You can pick clothes from my closet.” With a rub on her back, she left open the closet, redressed in her bathrobe then left her.

Realization hit her as hard as the cold, as vulgar as her thoughts defining it.

_I have fucked up in the most fucked up way possible._

* * *

 

A moment later there drizzled a running water, with Itori coming back with a towel for her and telling her to close the door due to the lack of heat inside. Accepting it, she went into the dimly lit room. It was mundanely small, chilly with no heater, with aged, rough walls with filthily-edged tiles and a small sink crammed with cosmetic products. In her sight was the filled bathtub waiting for her. She tested with her hand; it was comfortable warm water, with no acid or shenanigans. After tossing the towel to the nearby stool, she sat, and it filled enough to not overflow, and nicely to her shoulders. Funny how the mysterious ghoul was also promising.

But come to think of it, she had no reason for otherwise. She should know Clary was a type of hunter that was scorned for their prejudice by the exact group they oppressed, a type of hunter that can also kill, even more easily if let into her own home … In the end, the Clave is not much different from the CCG. It has its own flaws and constant need for reform. Even the angel blood did not change that.

 _Another thing,_ she thought as she scanned over the lotions and gels on the sink. Masking any traces with flavoured scents was useless; her friends could smell them and get suspicious, but couldn’t if otherwise. She just had to rinse herself, made sure her clothes were neat enough and that was it. She hoped.

The only remaining thing to do was to get Jonathan’s whereabouts, with some compromisations.

* * *

 

Footsteps followed, and Itori came in, dressed in the black dress she had seen in the beginning. She took the towel and the stool to sit beside her, observing her curiously. Clary in turn, having nothing to show and amuse, rained water on her arms and now sinking to her neck level in an attempt to hide her runes, which was ineffective due to the liquid’s transparency.

“You’re very pretty,” Itori eventually spoke.

She rolled her eyes — and stopped, internally cursing herself for being rude, but she did feel incredulous for the other’s stature was obviously better. “You are too.”

“No, really, you look just like me, expect being really tiny.”

“Not tiny as I seem.” She halfheartedly glared at her. In response, Itori cocked her head, her grin growing bigger.

“If you bite why didn’t you just do it then? You’re not aggressive in bed as you think you are. Just a little baby mewling and whining and blushing from every single touch on her —”

Just as she said it Clary responded louder, “Wait until I _kick your ass_.”

Itori cringed back in her chair, though not for long. “Oooh, scary.” She let out a melodic chuckle, which, Clary hated to admit, touched her in some way — which Itori picked up quickly. “Now you’re blushing.”

She swivelled her head and glared at her directly in the face. “Shut up.” Then added, “Or I’ll shoot out of this water and ruin your new dress.”

To her satisfaction, the other redhead froze. Then she relaxed, resting a hand beneath her chin, with that intrigued smirk back on her face. “You are really fun. This isn’t my new dress now. I’ve worn it for, what, two years? I like it anyway; it’s stylish and makes others jealous. You must be, aren’t you? When you stared at me in a frenzy.” She peered at her nails. “But don’t worry, everybody does.” Then back to her thinking posture. “ _Now_ , that was a dangerous stray from the topic. Let’s talk about your dear brother.”

 _Estranged,_ Clary wanted to correct her, but the less the Clowns knew the better.

“He is in a thousand ways more clever and mysterious as you, as his eyes gave away,” continued Itori, “more composed, more reserved, more controlled. Not much of a frequenter, but I’ve seen him enough. He was an interesting and different client which you can’t even surpass. I admit last time he went to my bar. But I assure you, it was solely to have a good time. Alas, though he is ruthless in paying for information, but he is modest in spending drinks.”

Clary rose a brow. That sounded too good to be true. “What else did he do? Who else did he speak to?”

She waved a hand, her eyes slightly narrowed with patience wavering in her tone. “Nothing except leisuring chats, and that is neither important nor helpful for you to know, unless you want to top his sum. Soon I have to be back on my duties and you’re welcome to stay as long as you can; maybe even after the water goes cold.” With that, she stood up, placed the towel on the stool and exited, decisively closing the door, leaving Clary to her thoughts.

She knew that was intentional. With lack of clue and heading for her, the night was almost wasted. Maybe she should call Luke. He had been a detective; he could theorize better even with less information. Right now with her fiery and too-emotional mind alone, all she could tentatively drew was Jonathan definitely had gone to the bar; and, if Itori was right, spoke to not her but other informants. She was also right in he was intelligent; he would not entrust some information to the head informant, to which the Shadowhunters pay closer attention than any other ghouls. The question was to whom did he consult? And about what?

 _Her_ whereabouts? Was Itori truly preserving her like a cattle for slaughter? Detailing his upcoming damages? That almost seemed too stupid; he would not entrust Downworlders with those.

Unless he could be relying on the Clowns the way he did with the faeries. If that was so, she had to act fast.

But in the end those were theorized on a whim. She could not know whether they were prophecies or just her hot head, but it was late in the night, so she could not talk to anyone until morning. The first person to warn could be Jace, but to do that was to break to him the deed she exchanged with the head informant.

Now Clary had a sick feeling in her stomach. She quickly drew out the lid, draining the tub. The lack of water left her cold and more slippery than the earlier sexual sweat.

She took the towel, dried herself — and felt better yet still cold — crawled out, and went back to the room. Itori was nowhere to be found, and the closet was still open. Most were dresses, and a few were tops, all of them revealing a bit too much of her chest. She picked the most decent, black one she could find, before putting on the rest of her unharmed garments and weapon belt. None of the weapons were touched.

Carving _sure-footed_ into her arm and unlocking the window by carving a small _unlock_ rune into its hinge, she opened it and jumped down, taking off into the streets.


End file.
